


soft sentence starters requests (tma)

by abeebumbling



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Multi, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Scotland cottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abeebumbling/pseuds/abeebumbling
Summary: tma reqs from tumblr, tags will b added as i go along
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. jontim, "i'm so proud of you, you know that?"

“I’m so proud of you, you know that?”

Jon sighs, glancing at Tim above his glasses.

“All I did was come to an office party, Tim.”

“Yes well, still, I know it’s hard for you.”

“Well…” Jon huffs, elbows him lightly. He’s starting to blush visibly.

“Relax, literally no one heard me,” Tim says, which of course makes Jon blush harder. “Are you gonna drink that? You’ve been holding it for a long time.”

“Oh. I…” He looks down at it, seeming very embarrassed. “I’m not sure if- if it’s alcoholic?”

Tim tries very hard not to laugh and only mildly succeeds. Jon glares at him as he chuckles.

“Just- why didn’t you just ask?”

“It’s- it’s awkward!”

“Then just don’t drink it?”

“I don’t want to seem rude!”

“Just- here give me that.”

“What-”

“Jon, I know how alcohol tastes like, just let me have a sip and tell you.”

“Oh. Tim!”

He’d already leaned forward and gotten his mouth on the pink straw, the cocktail parasol almost poking him in the eye if Jon hadn’t moved it sharply. “Thanks,” he mumbles around the straw before taking a sip and straightening.

“Okay so I’m pretty sure there’s no alcohol, but it’s some really disgusting fruit punch.”

“Duly noted,” Jon says way too seriously. He takes a sip himself as Tim hurriedly gets his phone out of his pocket and opens his camera just in time to capture his expression. “Tim. I saw that.”

“Duly noted,” Tim replies and sticks his tongue out at Jon mouthing ‘smug bastard’.

“Please tell me you’ll delete it.”

“Sure. It’s already your profile photo.”

“What? How?! You took it two seconds ago!”

“Jon, I’m sorry to tell you but not everyone takes as much time as you using a phone. And it looks cute, I promise. Here, look.”

He loosely wraps an arm around Jon’s waist to pull him closer, giving him plenty of room to wiggle away if he wants to. But Jon lets him, not without huffing. He gasps at the screen tilted towards him.

“Tim, I look ridiculous!” He manages to tap twice at the phone before Tim pulls it out of his reach. “Delete it!”

“Woah, woah, that’s my picture Jon, thank you very much.”

“Of me!” Jon protests but he’s relenting, choosing to lean on Tim instead. “You’re terrible.”

“Aw, come on, I know you love me.”

Jon rolls his eyes, a smile just barely tugging at his lips. He takes another sip, frowns, and sets his drink on a nearby table, leaning forward to reach it instead of stepping back so he stays comfortably lodged against Tim.

“And what are you grinning about?”

“Oh- you know.” Tim looks away, warmth filling his cheeks. “Just an alright party. Erm.” Thankfully Jon doesn’t seem to really be paying much attention to him. Or any at all. “...Jon? You okay?”

“Elias offered me the Archivist position.”

A beat.

“What?” Tim says completely bewildered. Jon gives him a look. “I mean- congrats! Shit. When do you- so you’re leaving research?” He tries not to sound too sad “Boo.”

“I mean it’s not set in stone-”

“But you’re gonna accept?”

“...probably,” Jon admits, a little sheepish. “But I have to um- I have to choose some help. Two people.”

“Sasha worked a bit with the previous Archivist-”

“Yes, I already asked her,” Jon says, a tad impatiently. 

“Alright, alright, so you just need one more person?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Well, good luck, I guess.”

Tim sips at his own drink, doing his best not to look too affected that Jon had just stripped him of both his friends at the Institute. People barely saw the Archives staff, and there were very weird rumors that surrounded pretty much every person who had worked there. Jon’s eyes bore into him. It’s unbearable until something clicks.

“Wait, me?”

Jon heaves a sigh, almost a chuckle.

“Yes, Tim, you.”

“Well, I’m not exactly qualified-”

“And I’m even less so. We-” His voice drops. “-um- we’ll have each other at least?”

“Sasha’s gonna be there too,” Tim blurts out, idiotically, absolutely fucking idiotically.

Jon doesn’t seem unfazed. 

“Yes, but I have a feeling she’ll be a bit better at this.”

“So should I call you ‘boss’ now?”

“Absolutely not. So that’s a yes from you?”

Tim puts a hand to his chin, looking to the ceiling as he mimes thinking it over. Jon smacks him on the shoulder not so gently and he laughs, feeling very, very light. 

“Sure, boss.” Tim grins as Jon cringes. “I mean, what’s the worse that could happen?”


	2. jonmartin, "you're so pretty"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the weeks pass by in the cottage, Jon falls into a routine slowly but surely. As he does he discovers more and more about Martin, so many little tics and habits he’d missed over the years and it’s...nice. It’s nice to be able to be at the same level as Martin on, well, knowing one another ironically enough.

As the weeks pass by in the cottage, Jon falls into a routine slowly but surely. As he does he discovers more and more about Martin, so many little tics and habits he’d missed over the years and it’s...nice. It’s nice to be able to be at the same level as Martin on, well, knowing one another ironically enough.

Martin seems to know so much about him, little everyday things, like how he doesn’t like to eat first thing in the morning, or how he tends to forget his reading glasses when they’re hanging on his collar, or, the most obvious one, how he takes his tea. Too much sugar. Too much milk.

(“I’ve tried taking it the way you do. It’s disgusting,” he’d told Jon once.

“What- it’s not! Stop laughing! You just need a nice, dry biscuit with it! Martin!”

“Sorry- sorry- I just- you make a dry biscuit sound so appealing!”)

The one thing he learned is this: Martin is not a morning person.

And even that small tidbit of information takes a while to reveal itself.

Jon always wakes up absurdly early, a habit that had stuck with him from his late grandmother. Usually, he finds himself waking up around six, sometimes five even, and he’s usually out of bed by seven or so. It’s nice to have an hour or more of quiet before starting the day. That’s one thing that didn’t change, even as he became Archivist, no matter how sporadic his sleeping schedule became. (Does he even really need sleep at this point? He’d really rather not think too hard about it.)

Martin is a light sleeper. He always shifts if Jon gets up for a glass of water, just enough for Jon to know he’s not shuffling in his sleep. So when Jon gets up, Martin does, and that’s just how it goes.

Then, one day, Martin mumbles something into his neck about being there in five minutes before drifting off. Jon lets him, wiggling away to get a start on breakfast. Martin stumbles into the kitchen about half an hour later, apologising profusely. 

(“Martin, I keep telling you it’s fine.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

“That means that you don’t have to keep apologising, you know?”

“Right! Right, sorry. Ah.”)

Days trickle by and Martin gets up a little later each one, sometimes padding out of the bedroom still in his night clothes. Jon tried not to think too much about how comfortable they grew to be around one another. Today was one of those days, a little past ten in the morning and Martin emerged, just barely awake. 

“‘Morning,” he mumbles, practically draping himself over Jon who was reading on the couch.

“Good morning,” he replies. Martin leans against him glancing at his book. He’s still warm from sleep, hair flat on one side and completely ruffled on the other. ‘Ridiculous,’ Jon thinks, his heart clenching almost painfully. 

“Is it any good?”

Jon blinks. Right. He was reading. Right.

“It’s… alright.”

“What’s it about?”

That, Jon could answer, it’s gotten very, very easy to ramble to Martin, with his soft eyes and quiet hums that indicate he’s still listening. Jon always finds himself focusing on a mole right above Martin’s left eyebrow when he talks like this. Just easier to look at than his eyes sometimes. Martin also has one behind his ear, two on his chin, and a lot more just scattered on his arms and back. And Jon realises he’s trailed off into saying nothing at this point. Martin’s looking at him, still smiling but just a bit confused now.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re staring at me, Jon.”

“You’re just- you’re just really pretty,” he blurts out.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t make me say it again,” Jon huffs.

“No- I just-” Martin tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. It doesn’t help much with the situation. “Now? Seriously?”

“Well, in general, but, yes, now too.” Jon can feel his face grow steadily warmer, the heat spreading to his neck and ears. “Don’t look at me like that!”

Martin keeps staring at him open mouthed for just a second longer before bursting out laughing, sudden and awkward and beautiful.

“What- why- Martin!”

“Sorry- sorry- I just- I’m not even wearing trousers and this is the time you choose to inform me that you think I’m pretty?”

“Well- well it’s true! You are!”

Martin hasn’t stopped laughing, wrapping his arms around Jon’s middle to bury his face in his neck. 

“You need to shave.” Jon tries very hard to sound accusing instead of enamored.

“Do I need to shave or am I pretty? Make up your mind, you ridiculous man.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Jon says indignantly. “It tickles my neck.”

“Oh, does it now? So I shouldn’t kiss you there then? Hmm?”

“Martin.”

“Hmm.”

“Martin, this is your first and only warning.”

Three minutes later and Jon’s hair looks even more disheveled than Martin’s. He pats it down as Martin grins at him, seeming very satisfied with himself. Jon’s too out of breath from laughing to wipe it off his face. He kisses him anyways. Martin is very pretty after all.


	3. jonmartin, you keep staring at me instead of the movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is- is there something in my teeth?”
> 
> That’s one thing about dating Jon. Martin thought that, with time, his general awkwardness (barely hidden behind a layer of anti-social prickle) would smooth out. But it doesn’t. Jon still manages to fumble and flap and blurt out the not-quite-right thing at the not-quite-right time. It’s stupidly endearing.

“Is- is there something in my teeth?”

That’s one thing about dating Jon. Martin thought that, with time, his general awkwardness (barely hidden behind a layer of anti-social prickle) would smooth out. But it doesn’t. Jon still manages to fumble and flap and blurt out the not-quite-right thing at the not-quite-right time. It’s stupidly endearing.

“I- No- What?”

“You just keep looking at me, instead of the movie I mean. Is there- is everything okay?”

“I- oh yeah, no, sorry- everything’s fine. Just- just happy.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Just really happy.”

“Mm.” Jon shuffles slightly, pressing against Martin’s side and leaning there. “And why so, may I ask?”

“I-I don’t know. Just at peace. You’re here also. I dunno. This feels… really weird.”

Jon huffs, almost a laugh.

“Of all the things- this is the weird part to you? Really?”

“Okay, well I don’t mean it like that! Like- like- I don’t know, I was more ready for another terrible thing to happen, a mystery door or- or- or getting chased down by that one clown eating pig, maybe?”

“The pig’s in cement. And in New Zealand.”

“Oh my god- okay, once again, not what I mean, like-”

Jon laughs, still small and tentativ,e and Martin may or may not forget what they’re talking about for just a second.

“No, no, I get it.”

Jon’s looking at him now, all warm eyes, he smiles very sadly.

“...yeah?”

“Yeah. Really. It’s like- I don’t know, I haven’t felt like this in a few years?”

“Like this?”

“Relaxed. Safe. Happy?”

“Jon?”

“Mm?”

“That’s really sad.”

Jon rolls his eyes.

“So you don’t feel the same?”

“Okay, okay, fair point. But that’s different.”

“How?”

Martin opens his mouth. Closes it. Flounders a little longer. 

“I-I don’t know.” He shrugs. Jon sighs.

“You’ve just wired yourself not to think about yourself like that.”

A flush is creeping to Martin’s face, not quite embarrassment, but not exactly pleasant either.

“Like what?”

“Like with compassion, Martin.”

Silence. The flush spreads to his neck, settling uncomfortably in his chest around his fluttering heart.

“Well.” He swallows. “Did you really have to say it?”

“Martin,” Jon says with characteristic exasperation and newfound fondness. “Apparently I do, to remind you at least.”

“You’re going soft,” Martin mumbles, because he cannot think of anything else to say.

“All thanks to you, love.” Jon smiles, small but radiant and Martin has to look away. “Oh? Am I flustering you, sweetheart?”

Martin makes a noise then, something embarrassing, like a squeak but his voice cracked in the middle. Jon laughs, attempts to kiss him but Martin easily pushes him away.

“Back, you vile beast.”

“But darling-”

Martin knows he’s glowing then, and Jon snickers, managing to worm his way into his arms and steal a kiss.

“I said back!”

“Then, pray tell why you’re kissing me?” He pauses, mostly because Martin’s mouth is on his. “Sweetness?”

“Jon.” And his voice cracks again, prompting Jon to finally properly laugh for the first time in the cottage, maybe the first time since that first, rocky year they met.


	4. jonmartin, "you're not in bed. I came looking for you"

Martin wakes up with a start, cold past the point of shivering and eyes stinging. He gasps and the air is icy in his lungs. He’s in bed, somewhere in Scotland, he knows that, somewhere under the growing panic, but it smells like damp and salt and it’s so damn cold.

And he’s alone. Jon isn’t next to him.

“Jon?”

His voice dies in his throat as he sits up, the word barely making it to his lips. He clears his throat to try again. It hurts.

“Jon!”

“Martin? Where…?”

It’s from down the hallway, somewhere around the kitchenette.

“Bedroom,” Martin manages to rasp. There’s the thud-thud-thud of Jon’s half-jog he does when he’s in a hurry.

“I’m coming! I- Ah- Martin?”

He’s in the bedroom now, but not looking at Martin, eyes fixed somewhere above his head on the wall behind him, like he can’t see-

Ah.

“Here- I just-” He struggles with the words, with actually talking. “Sorry.”

“Oh, Martin,” Jon says very softly. Then: “You scared the living daylights out of me, I swear.”

Martin tries to laugh. He manages a feeble wheeze.

“Where- where were you?”

He’s careful not to sound reproachful. Jon’s face still twists with guilt.

“You weren’t in bed- well, I couldn’t see you, so I went looking… I-I’m sorry, Martin I should have known- you- this isn’t the first time it happened- I should’ve stayed.”

“Jon, my night terrors aren’t your fault- don’t argue with me, they’re not- I’m just glad you’re here now. Thank you.”

Jon’s smiling at him now, hair a mess, clothes rumpled, eyes soft with sleep. Martin can’t help smiling back.

“What?” he asks Jon.

“I can see you now.”

Martin hates that that makes him blush. He forces himself to roll his eyes.

“Alright, you sap.”

Jon huffs.

“I take it you’re ready to go back to bed?”

Martin’s about to nod, already shifting to roll himself back under the covers but the sheets feel weirdly irritating on his skin. Ah. Right. He sniffs the back of his hand. Salt. Further inspection makes him realize that his feet and scalp are covered in sand. Great. 

“Martin? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just need a shower. The Lonely decided to dunk me in the ocean this time.” He pauses, mimes brushing a speck of sand off his hand. “Could you- um- you know what, never mind-”

“Martin.”

“It’s stupid-”

“Martin!”

“Well, I-I don’t exactly want to be alone right now-”

“Yes, that’s understandable.”

“-but- erm- I need to shower.”

“...ah. I see.”

“I could- I could just leave the door open and um- you could stay outside- or- um…” Martin trails off, his face aflame. He was being an idiot.

“Or-” Jon says, “-you could take a bath instead of a shower because it looks like you need it and I could wash your hair.”

For a second, Martin’s afraid he might not be able to reply. He swallows.

“Okay. Yeah. Okay, if- if that’s okay.”

Jon’s fingers feel great on his head. Martin’s eyes keep closing, and he could have very well fallen asleep if it weren’t for Jon warning him of the dangers of falling asleep in a tub.

“Jon-”

“I’m serious, people die like that..”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Tch.” He huffs above Martin. “Why do you have so much sand here? Don’t laugh, Martin.”

It definitely doesn’t go as smoothly as Martin might have hoped. His clothes stuck to him as he peeled them off resulting in a lot of undignified wiggling as Jon very pointedly stared at a broken floor tile. Jon knocked over most of the bottles on the bathroom shelf reaching for shampoo and got it into Martin’s eyes when he first started rubbing it into his scalp.

But it was okay now. Jon was still lecturing him about not sleeping where he’s not supposed to giving it all a weird sense of normality.

“Martin? You’ve gone quiet, are you alright?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“If you’re that sleepy, you-”

“No, no, I just… Thank you Jon. For doing this, I mean.”

“Of course. So sorry, but I am going to ruin the moment now.”

“Wh-”

He turns around just in time to see Jon holding the showerhead, with a smile both apologetic and mischievous. Martin swears as he’s drenched with icy cold water. It sounds more like ‘hrghghbrl’ but the feeling’s still there. 

“Again. So sorry.”

“You’re insufferable. You do realize I could splash you, right?”

“Mhm. I am holding your towel though, which I left by the heater. Would be a shame if it got soaked.” He slings around his neck. “It’s so warm,” he coos.

“Give me that,” Martin says gruffly, trying very hard not to just say ‘I love you’ instead.

A moment later and the towel is around his waist. This time Jon stares at the sink. Martin takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around his waist and squeeze for just a second. Unsurprisingly, he’s met with a lot of protest.

“I’m soaked now,” Jon complains, holding out his shirt. “How could you?”

“You’re damp,” Martin corrects. “You’ll dry off in a minute.” He pats Jon’s head for good measure. Jon smacks his hand away but he’s full on grinning. It’s a lovely sight.

“I love you,” Jon says suddenly, immediately blushing afterwards.

“I know. Love you too.”

“Great. Now go put a shirt on.”

“Wow, you’re really not letting us have a moment today, huh?”

“I don’t want you catching a cold!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> requests r still open cause this is literally the only one i got! 
> 
> u can find them (and my tma blog) here: https://jonsirondeficiency.tumblr.com/post/636354856236580864/%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%8E%F0%9D%90%85%F0%9D%90%93-%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%8D%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%8D%F0%9D%90%82%F0%9D%90%84-%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%80%F0%9D%90%91%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%91%F0%9D%90%92


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